


This Ain't No Hymn

by SuperbSoap



Category: Original Work, This Ain't No Hymn
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Assault, Betrayal, Emotional Manipulation, Fantasy based in the current time period, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loup-garou | Rougarou, Major Violence, Multi, Newsflash: Sometimes Humans and the Supernatural Don't Mix, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Southern Gothic, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperbSoap/pseuds/SuperbSoap
Summary: Here wolves walk in the skin of men, and men walk in the skin of wolves. Snakes are to be trusted, and the vines in the garden whisper the secrets they keep hidden. NOTICE: Chapters will be updated on multiple occasions!





	1. Brothers - Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my first original piece! I would very much appreciate feedback on this, so feel free to comment or say anything that you'd like to! 
> 
> All characters are my own, so any likeness to others is completely incidental!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Chapters Updated On 26 Dec. 2017

The clouds rumbled restless across the gray sky, gators drifting lazily in anticipation for the storm ahead, beady eyes sharpened as thunder cried out over the swamp. Rain pelted down into the algae infested water. The large beasts relished the feeling of sharp drops against their thick hides as they gradually moved to rest at the bottom of the bayou; there they would wait like hidden bear traps for anyone to step into them. Bald Cypress hanging heavy with Spanish moss quivered as wind whipped through their spindling tops - howling out its lonesome call as the sun teetered on the edge of the horizon. The burning orb caressed all that it could with its lithe fingers, battling for dominance through the thick storm clouds and heavy rain. One figure in particular eluded the grasping reach of the Sun - the knowing eyes that surrounded him watching from their basking spots - slinking between the dark alcoves of safety that the spindling trees created.

 

                Leroux glided his small boat through the cypress trees smoothly, the long punt pole sinking into the heavy muck on the bottom of the swamp. Rain rippled from his tattered wide brim hat, its edges drooping with his shoulders. Long red hair - darkened by the rain - fell over his shoulders and into his face. His thin eyes scanned across the water as gators slid from view, into the murky water beneath his punt. Much like them, Leroux relished in the feeling of the monsoon - letting it wash the sweat and sin from his body as he moved along the waterways. He was running late for the meeting, as was usual. No one ever expected the man to be on time, at least not once they learned his behavior. Isaac would have his head, he was sure.

 

               

 

                Another thirty minutes and he was at the base of a large sandbar. He hopped out into the shallow waters here, not unaware of the thin eyes watching from just above the dark surface. Lugging the punt up onto the grit was no hard task for Leroux, he had the temper of a bull and the strength to match. Soon the boat clings to a cypress knee, such a knot made that even under the mightiest of hurricanes it would not budge. Confident in his work, he swiveled to climb the waiting ramp that lead to a large stilted home.

 

                Kerosene lanterns burned brightly along the porch that ran the entire perimeter of the L shaped building. It was made of the wood from trees that surrounded it, left its natural color in favor of painting where it would soon fade in the muggy swamp. The planks groaned beneath the weight of the man, complaining in their old age and disrepair. Algae and moss grew in the grains, gleaming orange in the lantern light. Leroux made his way to the door, a grinning wolf glaring at him from its center. He lifted the knocker and allowed it to drop twice, grinning in return as it swung open to invite him inside. 

 

                The secluded abode was warm on the inside, fire roaring under the protection of stone chinking that led up the far wall. It wafted its smell of wood smoke through the open space, creating an atmosphere suiting of a place such as this. The walls inside were covered in damask wallpapers, all faded from their original shades into earthier crimsons and deeper yellows. Sundry herbs hung in bundles along the rafters, accompanied by the occasional animal pelt or skull. A multitude of jars packed tight with questionable substances lined mahogany shelves on the right wall. The fireplace mantle was adorned with a large alligator skull, white bone the only thing left of what had once been a twenty foot being. Further back, where the house turned in its L, barrels and other goods were stored - their contents yet another mystery.

 

                Bodies lounged along the floors on heaps of threadbare pillows or stretched amongst the lengths of couches and other assorted seating. Few cast their glances to the red haired man now in their midst, used to his presence. He caught the eye of a willowy figure who lazed in front of a large, high backed armchair. Ambroise smiled as he watched Leroux walk into the meeting hall; it was a knowing thing, an understanding that despite being the right hand to their leader, he'd be reprimanded for turning up late yet again. His brother had never been one for punctuality.

 

                Leroux moved his gaze upwards, past his brother to the spotless wingtips that rested by his ribcage and up further still. Along the pristine, dark suit with the paisley pocket square and pale cravat. Reluctantly he met the eyes of the man who sat in front of him, their bright blues singling him out with a particularly icy glare. Isaac O'Shea was not one to be tampered with, but here was Leroux, doing just that. He had been late for the past three meetings, seeing how far his boundaries could be stretched. Isaac was intimidating in his six feet and five inches of height, his lithe build always adorned in a pressed suit. Never a hair out of place - and God help those who ever pushed it to be so.

 

                His eyes were the most striking. Isaac was one of the few who possessed a condition that affected his pupils, leaving the left always in a pin dot within the striking blue. The right took up most of the iris. As of now, those pupils were intently focused on Leroux, appraising him.

 

                Just as Leroux went to speak, Isaac interrupted with a slight wave of a multi-ringed hand, his Irish accent long lost to the grip of the south. "The meeting is done, Leo. You have missed it and it is unfortunate that such has occurred. Perhaps you can provide transportation for a few who would enjoy less crowded travel back home."

 

                "Now, Isaac..! I-I see how late I wuz, but ain't no reasonin' for ta' act dat way.." Leroux whined out, only to receive a silencing look from his superior.

 

                Leroux wrung his sopping hat between calloused fingers, watching the man intently. Isaac stood slowly, stretching his long limbs and glancing down at the younger man who still rested at his feet. He leaned down and helped Ambroise up, nodding at the small thank you given to him.

 

                "Best be gettin’ on our ways, Leo," another man muttered, patting him squarely on the shoulder as he departed the building.

 

                Soon the place was empty but for Isaac, Leroux, and Ambroise. The latter stretched with cat like motions, muscles tightening beneath his pale skin.

 

                "You really do need to be more aware of time, brother." He drawled softly, looking up at his elder from his five feet and five inches.

 

                "Don' you go commandun' me eitha', pichouette[1]," Leroux growled, his dialect much different from that of his sibling.

 

                Ambroise's cheeks heated at his nickname, baring teeth as he seethed with distaste. He was only three years younger than his brother, turning twenty-two in three days. It was absolutely absurd in his mind that his elder brother call him such a thing. Just as he began to spit unsavory words, a large hand on his shoulder quieted him.

 

                "As much as I love to listen to the two of you bickering, I'm afraid that we need to be going." Isaac spoke calmly, his eyes tired with the waning evening.

 

                With a huff, Ambroise nodded. "Fine, you're taking us back, log head," He nudged Leroux.

 

                "S'long as you don' call ta the gators," the eldest replied, finding his way back to his punt with the other two in tow.

 

               

 

                The weather outside had cleared, the rain no longer on a mission to beat down whatever unfortunate creature was beneath it. Through its battle it stirred the debris that made their homes on the bottom of the swamp. Long limbs divulged at the surface of the water, seeking to feel and touch whatever came nearest. The beasts had returned from their muck graves as well, wading the water with eyes that gleamed in the light of the lantern guiding the punt. The Sun had given up his battle with the night, giving way to the waxing gibbous in all its silver glory. The next night, after the battle had been fought and conquered again by the moon, it would be full - casting its embrace unto all that it rest above.

 

Ambroise stared up at the beauty, lounging along the plank seating, his head resting against Isaac's thigh. Isaac's nimble fingers ran through the wild blond curls on the younger man's head, pulling tangles loose from each other on occasion. Leroux was at the back of the punt again, pushing it along the water's surface as he hummed low in his throat.

 

                "You told me not to call to the alligators, but you're singing..." Ambroise spoke softly, grinning at his brother.

 

                "They ain't gonna come fo' me do'. I ain't no possede," Leroux replied coolly.

 

                Ambroise pouted, turning to kick out at the back of his brother's legs. "I'm not possessed!"

 

                Leroux gave Ambroise a swift _thwack_ with the punt pole on his legs as he brought it up, growling. "Arrete toi[2]!"

 

                "But you are mischievous," Isaac chuckled, smoothing his hair back as Ambroise moved back to rest against him again. The boy tried his best to glare a hole through the ginger man.

 

~ / ~

 

                The two brothers were always straining their relationship, rarely seeing eye to eye. Isaac found his proteges in the acrid air of the Louisiana coast. The boys were strange, the youngest two heads shorter than his brother; their hair was unkempt and their clothes ill-fitting. In the particular moment that Isaac stumbled upon them, Leroux gripped some poor chump in a death hold - near to choking the life from his fragile throat. Ambroise stood guard at the head of the alleyway, all but screaming that the pair were up to no good.

 

                                Leroux cackled low as the man pleaded to be let go, swearing that he’d never set foot on Mr. Sabini’s property again. The rasping voice squeezing its way through bruised windpipes, poor creature. _Swearing_. That was something Leroux always despised, that someone could even dare to go against His will, speaking like trash in the streets. _Sickening_.   
                  
                He was jostled from his wandering thoughts back into the present moment when his captive tried weakly to get away. Quickly he was stunned back into silence with another brutal blow to his face, crimson spattering against the white of Leroux’s loose shirt. If only the rat hadn’t slipped liquor from Mr. Sabini’s bar. With an indifferent lift of shoulders, Leroux proceeded to beat the man senseless.   
  
                He released one fist from the man’s shirt, jerking the other back and using all the power stored in his muscles to send a hit directly to the man’s mouth. He could hear the breaking of teeth from bone and gum, the man gaping like a fish out of water, unable to make a sound as he spat three front teeth onto the cobblestone. The ugly color stained his shirt, settling in the fabric sticky and pungent. Globules fell down his lips and clung to his chin as he struggled to keep his head from lolling forwards, his vision blurring.   
  
                “Givin’ up?” Leroux grinned, gripping the man's hair and forcing his head back.

 

                With a gurgling groan the creature fell to his knees, unable to voice his pleas. A tsking noise was all he received from Leroux before his head was bashed against the malefactor’s knee. Leroux could feel what were left of his victim’s teeth sink into the skin of his kneecap, grimacing as the flesh gave in.

 

                A pained wheeze escaped the man as he raised a feeble hand to try dislodging Leroux’s grip. He only received a wicked laugh and another bashing to the skull, this time against his nose. The sound was clearly audible, a viscous phlegm weeping from the wound. Leroux grinned viciously as his prey went limp, though still conscious. During his break from mutilation, he turned to see his brother who stood watch at the opening of the alley.

                  
                Ambroise shifted bare feet against slick cobblestone nervously, his hazel orbs scanning through the meager tenants of the street. Thankfully it was nearly empty tonight, only the few girls who never slept and the homeless meandering through the area. None of them batted an eye to the sounds echoing behind him in the darkness, oblivious to the piteous cries that were often heard on this half of the coast. Ambroise’s heart thumped loud in his chest despite the lack of attention, fear clawing at him that they’d be caught and thrown in the jailhouse again. He couldn’t take another night spent there.

 

                Only did the boy move from his station when he heard the rhythmic tapping of something like metal against the cobblestones.   
  
                _Tap… Tap… Tap…_

 

                Stepping from the alley, he saw the creator of such a noise. A tall, willowy figure that paraded through the low lying fog and lights of the street lamps. A minor limp adorned its gate, the cane it held for support was what gave such a tap. When the figure looked to Ambroise, its’ eyes gleaming in the lamplight, he felt his heart drop low into his belly.

                  
                "Gotta go, gotta go..!" He hissed low, glancing nervously to the street as he backpedaled to his brother, gripping at his shirt sleeve desperately.

 

                With a scoff, Leroux tugged away. "Ain't nothin' ta be 'fraid of, go back ta watchin'."

 

                As soon as he finished speaking, the air stiffened and what little light slipped into the alley was extinguished. Two pairs of eyes and one that barely opened slowly trailed to see what created the eclipse. 

 

                They were met with the creat- no, the man who held the cane - the handle of which was the golden head of a timber wolf, vicious teeth glistening. He held himself with a careful countenance, spine straight and head held high. His gaze traveled through thick blond lashes and a gently sloped nose to the brothers, a sneer ghosting on his lips.

 

                "What have we here, hm..?" He spoke quietly, his own teeth seeming as pointed as those of the wolf’s.

 

                Leroux lunged forward without a thought, clenching his fists tightly. “Passe![3]”

 

                "I don't believe I can go away, dear child. Not with you so mindlessly beating this man," the stranger said, still in that soft, calm tone.

 

                Chills ran down Ambroise's spine and he gripped at his brother's shirt yet again. "T-trop... Trop près[4], Leroux.." He whispered, watching the man step towards them ever so slowly.

               

                Leroux’s victim took his distraction as a chance to stumble his way pathetically through the maze of alleyways.

 

                “I said ta go on outta here!” Leroux snarled, matching the man’s steps.

 

                The taller man peered around him as well as he could, looking to Ambroise. “What are your names?”

 

                Ambroise stiffened, offering his best glare and a baring of teeth as an answer. The stranger gave a gnashing grin back, his own much more menacing than that of the younger boy. Leroux let the man go so far as this, but no further as he rushed forward.

 

                A sound _thud_ when his back hit the cold cobblestone, the air escaping his lungs in a white mist. He had come within a foot of the man when he was struck soundly on the skull with the cane he held, the metal at the foot splitting his scalp with ease. It had been such a swift action that neither brother quite realized what happened until the elder was on the ground. Leroux rolled to his left side with a groaning cough, curling in upon himself as his hair fell into his face.

 

                Ambroise stood in stunned silence, eyes wide and face paled. His gaze traveled from his brother to the stranger, a fierce snarl marring his features. He himself ran forwards, judging the way that the man would use the cane - only to be caught in a tight grasp.

 

                With an arm fast around the younger man’s middle and the other gripping the back of his neck, he repeated his previous question. “What are your names..?”

 

                A pause that received no answer and he spoke again. “I am Isaac,” he offered.

 

                Ambroise slowly gave up his struggle, teeth grit tightly together. “M-moreau.. M-my name is Ambroise Moreau.. T-that’s my brother, Leroux..”

 

                Isaac’s grip relaxed, a small nod gracing his form. “Pick your brother up, then come with me.”

 

~ / ~

 

                A commotion that rocked their small punt jostled Isaac from his daydreaming. He found Ambroise in a headlock from his elder brother, the two spouting off curses at each other. A loud sigh slipped from Isaac’s lungs as he watched the two, waiting for them to realize that they were being observed.  The ways in which the two showed affection were so odd in comparison to that of Isaac’s own siblings. Perhaps it was the way that they were raised, on opposite ends of the spectrum - as far as one could go to each end.

 

                Isaac’s own family was vast and virtuous, leading him to many opportunities that few experienced in entire lifetimes at a young age. The Moreau brothers, however, had been on their own from the beginning. The eldest of the pair left in charge of an infant with so little knowledge of his own about their world. Isaac frowned at the thought of how incapable Leroux must have felt as a child, how vulnerable his ward.

               

                Neither of them needed to worry now with the formidable Mr. O’Shea tied to their names. Only a fool would rouse poor relations with someone under the man’s care.

 

                “Boys, really. You’ll send all three of us into our watery graves if you continue,” Isaac finally spoke, glancing to the murky water beneath them.

 

                Ambroise was the first to answer, digging sharp nails into the bend of his brother’s elbow. “He started this!”

 

                Leroux gave a wince and released his younger brother, taking up the punt pole again. “Petit bête[5]!”

 

                Isaac chuckled softly to himself as Ambroise lounged by him again, still glaring at his brother. The three rested in silence as they made their way to their shared home. Louisiana was long asleep by the time that they entered the front door of their large abode, the other occupants resting about in unordered sequence. Some slept in their rooms, others took up spaces in the multiple living areas. None of the family cared much for ordered sleep aside from Isaac - who had a very strict routine as of late.

 

                He woke at precisely 4:30 am, showered and dressed in twenty minutes, then sat in his office chair until 7 am, when the rest of the house began to stir. He would oversee the culinary escapades that they called breakfast - served at 9 am exactly - fetch himself a large mug of twice brewed coffee and cardamom, then go about family affairs until it was time for lunch.

 

                Everything was ordered with him; all had its place. This was evident as he made his way through the foyer of the home to the spiraling stairs, taking them all the way to the third and final floor of the home. Here he made his way down a long hallway into the room at the end. The living space lacked decor save for the books along the left wall and the antique lamps that rested on the nightstands and desk at the right wall of the room.

 

                Isaac went about his night routine, undressing with a quick precision and hanging his suit neatly in his small closet. He slipped into his dark silk pajamas, buttoning the shirt with ease as he made his way to the king sized, four poster bed. Here he knelt to pray silently, slipping beneath the luxurious comforter and falling fast asleep.

 

                All had order in his world, except for when his world was out of his control.  
  


[1] Pichouette (Pe-shwet) – Cajun French for “runt”

[2] “Arrete toi” (Ah-reet twa) – < Stop, you! >

[3] Passe (Pass – eh) – < Go away >

[4] Trop près - < Too close >

[5] Petit bête - < Little beast >


	2. Amelie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second installment! Warning for violence and gore!

****

_Joyous cackles sang throughout the large house as Isaac sauntered through the warm halls after much smaller pattering along the light oak flooring. Sunlight poured through large windows, illuminating the entire house with its warm embrace. The scent of coffee wafted through the first floor of the three stories, breakfast having been served not long ago. The little creature he sought out grinned as it slid into the next room, diving to hide beneath the center table. His own broad grin split his face as he rounded the corner to the living area, arms reaching out to scoop up the little boy who playfully avoided his father._

_  
“I’ve finally caught you, little beast!” He laughed, hugging the toddler tight and burying kisses against plump cheeks._

_“Papa, papa!” The child cackled, pushing against his father._

_“What are you to do now that the big bad wolf has you, hm? Will you run away, flit like a sparrow to mother’s nest?” He teased, spinning the boy about in circles, eliciting another bout of belly deep laughs that echoed through the halls._

_Slowing to a stop, Isaac looked to the entrance of the living area. “Dear?”_

_As he asked the question, thunder boomed through the pitch black house. Lightning shrieked against the walls, rain pelting furious against window panes. His son was no longer in his arms. The house was musty, its acrid scent burning in the back of his nostrils like copper._

_Confusion contorted his features, his gaze assessing that he was standing at the top of the home’s spiraling stairs. He faced the tall, narrow hallway that lead to many rooms._

_“Amelie… Thomas…?” His voice cracked as he whispered, heart hammering loudly in his ears._

Why was he afraid?

_As his call went unanswered, he crept down the hallway on unsteady feet. His hair stood on end, small welts riddling his body. Slowly he became aware of a warmth on his hands, sticky and wet. Stopping in front of one of the large windows that lined the left side of the hall, he lifted his hands into the light that was cast by the moon and lightning._

_Isaac felt his heart halt in his ribcage, his stomach twisting at the sight of dark carnelian against his skin. It seeped into his sleeve cuffs and ran dark along the cotton, marring with its hellacious color._

_A cold sweat came to him as he lurched forwards, his stomach emptying itself of its contents upon the wooden floors. As if unaware of the blood upon his hands, he swiped them over his face, cleaning his lips upon an already soiled sleeve._

_He called again feebly, “Amelie…. T-thomas…”_

_No report._

_His feet began carrying him heavy down the hall, turning right into the first door they came to. The lightning did not penetrate here, the room covered in pitch black, like a blanket trying to smother those who lay beneath it._

_Another call, but this time interrupted by a soft_ thwump _as his shoes met something against the floor. Blindly he knelt, soaking his pant legs in another warmth, tacky against the slacks. His hands sought the object that bled so profusely, finding taffeta and lace encasing a frail body._

_A broken wail tore from his throat as he grasped Amelie in his arms, tears streaming through the mess on his face as he buried it against the soft curls of his wife’s head. They too were soaked with horrible carmine, its talons raking against dark skin. Amelie’s beautiful green eyes no longer twinkled with a laugh that crinkled them at the edges, her hands did not seek to grip her husband tightly in a hug. No longer was his Amelie.. His Amelie..  
  
                Isaac imagined he could feel her heart pulsing beneath her cold skin, the steady rhythm nearly palpable. So close, she was still here. His Amelie was alive, alive, alive. _ Alive _. She laughed in his arms - a sweet thing that lit up her emerald eyes - reaching up to caress gently along his cheek. Together they were perfect, with her so beautiful in this moment, so small against his large frame. He leaned to kiss her, only to be shocked back away from her when he was met with lips that were not hers._

_Some monster grinned viciously at him, cackling with its horrible daggers gleaming red, long talons reaching out for Isaac as he fumbled away from it. It laughed again, gripping at his knee and digging in deep to his flesh, slicing through the way a paper knife opened an envelope, folding it open so cleanly and smoothly that it was as if it were meant to be this way._

_Isaac did not feel the pain, the blood rushing forth from the exposed tissue and tendon, things that were not meant to see the light. Only did he feel his Amelie, gripping him in such a tight hold as if to plead to him to bring her back, the daggers in her mouth fading as her expression became a desperate one._

_“You,” she rasped, crimson spilling from between petal soft lips “, you did this to me, dear. You sank your teeth into my yielding throat and exposed what lay beneath, my sweet.”_

_Isaac shook his head frantically, gripping either side of his head. “No, no, no!”_

_“Ç'est vrai, mon amour **[1]**. Your hands,” she grinned as she pulled his away from his head to press against the gore that was her throat. “, did this to me, opened my skin with the same excitement that a child opens gifts. Ripping and tearing at silken wrapping until nothing remained but the shreds of what had once been.”_

_Amelie curled his fingers against her torn flesh, sinking his blunt nails into the trachea and as far back as they could go, to touch against the vertebrae that lead to her spine. He watched in mute horror, the warmth engulfing him. Only did he jerk back when she laughed, watching him wretch upon the floor._

_“Poor, poor boy,” she crooned, cradling him in her arms. “Shh, fais do do **[2]**, Isaac. Fais do do..”_

_A bolt of lightning shocked him out of his mind, bringing him back into the present as it lit the hallway behind him._

_Looking down, he found his dear Amelie cold in his arms. She did not laugh at or with him, did not hold him so sweetly. She was limp, her eyes wide and glazed. He broke then, when he looked into them, sobbing out his lamentations, tears and mucus falling against his face._  
                  
                He pleaded for her to come back, to find his voice and follow it to him. Only did his cries quiet when a small voice sounded behind him, confused and heavy with sleep.

_“Papa…?”_

                Isaac awoke with a scream that ripped loose from his throat so viciously that he tasted copper on the back of his tongue. In his attempt to escape the terror that had been his sleep he threw himself from the bed, becoming entangled in the sheets. As he thrashed about on the hardwood, he struck the bedside table with a fist, sending the antique gas lamp that rested atop it to the floor with a mighty crash.

  
                Quickly he found himself pressed into the corner of the room furthest from the bed, just to the right of the door. Heavy breaths sounded in the darkness, his hand pressing tightly against his heart. The same nightmare had plagued him for months now, as though his mind was bound on cursing him with the memory for the rest of his miserable years. His heart nearly jumped from his throat as his bedroom door was opened, light from the hallway rushing in to shadow a small figure against the wall.

 

                “Isaac… Are you alright..?” It was soft and ran thick with the honey of recent sleep. Ambroise.  
  
                “F-fine. I am rather fine,” was Isaac’s reply as he stood to move in front of the door, trying unsuccessfully to adjust his appearance.  
                  
                Ambroise took the sight of the older man in, his countenance very much betraying what he said. His eyes were hollow, as if they did not see the light that came in from the hallway, dark circles sinking far into the back of his skull. Isaac had managed to lose his sleep shirt somewhere in the expanse of the room, his pajama bottoms were twisted in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable direction, and the hair that he always took great pride in styling was hopelessly lost to the terrors of the night.   
  
                “The dream again..?” Ambroise questioned softly, looking around him into the bedroom.  
  
                A sigh, much defeated, was the answer as Isaac’s shoulders fell. Ambroise did not require an answer, though, as he saw the mess that was the bed. The sheets had been cast about recklessly, one of the antique lamps Isaac cared for had been shattered, the oil seeping into the hardwood. The mattress of the king sized bed was hanging nearly half off of one side as well. Isaac slowly stood to gather himself, pushing his hair away from his face and readjusting his bottoms.

 

                “You don’t always need to be so quiet about them, about what happened..” Ambroise said gently, slipping into the room to try his hand at cleaning the mess.

 

                “You know them, do you not? You see my dreams, my nightmares. All of their in betweens,” Isaac replied, casting a rather critical glance on the younger boy.

 

                A moment of silence passed between them as Ambroise looked up from his kneeling at the lamp remnants. “Yes, I see them all. I know them all, every miniscule detail.”  
  
                “Why do you ask, then? Why do you question the things that you already know of, answer me that!” Isaac’s temper was rising, a fist clenched at his side as he shut the bedroom door to quiet his voice.

 

                Icy blues watched as the boy moved across the room to the trash bin, dumping handfuls of broken milk glass into the steel container. He wiped the kerosene on his palms carelessly into the flannel of the boxers he had been sleeping in. Reaching across the mahogany desk that sat to the right of the trash, he pulled the chain to illuminate the banker’s lamp. The room was washed in the soft glow as he moved to look at the mess that shone against the hardwood.   
  
                He parted his lips slightly, as if to speak, only to purse them as he attempted moving the mattress back to its rightful place.   
  
                “Answer me, damn you!” Isaac suddenly shouted, lunging to grab the boy by the collar of his shirt in a tight grip. “What pleasure do you get from seeing how I suffer, seeing what haunts my mind and the deep recesses of my soul!? What demons possess you so?”  
  
                “The same demon who made you what you are. That same demon who left you to die for your wrong doings, as you should have! You should have never made it through that ritual, your heart should have been ripped from your chest before Marinette[3] could know she was being summoned!” A sharp inhale as tears burned in his eyes, “I feel every hellacious rake of her claws against your heart, I feel the heat of her blood as she dies in your arms, night after night! I suffer in the same agonizing pain that you do, damned to this Hell for as long as you live!” Ambroise seethed, digging nails into the fist that clutched at him.   
  
                A sharp slap was the retort, echoing through the large room. Ambroise’s head snapped to the right, his cheek shading bright red as tears burned in his eyes.

                  
                “Do not forget where your loyalties lie, boy. Your soul does not belong to yourself or to your bastard brother. It belongs to me, do you understand? I alone am the sole benefactor to all that you possess and all that constitutes who you are.” Isaac spoke with his face pressed near to the younger’s, teeth gleaming dangerously close to the vein that pulsed with his heavy heartbeat.

 

                Ambroise was silent, grinding sharp teeth together so tightly that they felt as if they’d shatter behind his lips. As the silence grew it became a heaving monster that Isaac could no long stand. He held the boy tighter still as he raised him higher against the wall, teeth bared in a savage way.   
  
                “I hold your life on a thin line, you understand this?” Isaac held the boy high enough that he was barely on the tips of his toes, gripping the older man’s arm to keep from choking.  
  
                “A miniscule light that I could squash out without having to think twice. So insignificant,” Isaac continued, “I could set you alight here, right inside of this room. Let the flames eat away at you and this wretched house for all of your sins. You’re soiled with kerosene and the floor is as well, it would be simple. So, so agonizingly _simple_ ,” he punctuated the ending of his speech with a harsh jerk that slammed Ambroise against the wall.  
                  
                Ambroise’s eyes grew wide as he listened, a small voice screaming in the back of his head to fight the man’s grip. Yet, he did not move, only stared into Isaac’s eyes in silent defiance. With a disgusted sneer Isaac released his hold and let the boy drop into the floor. The breath Ambroise had been holding in left his lungs and he let out a shuddering gasp.  
  
                “I cannot do such a thing, though. It is a shame that you are so valuable to me, my dream seeker.. My teller of fates..” Isaac spoke as if he were talking to a lover, sending chills of fear down Ambroise’s spine as he kneeled before him.  
  
                Isaac crouched and ran a hand down the younger man’s cheek, cold fingers rising welts on his skin. “You are loyal to me, are you not?”  
  
                Ambroise nodded slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes, sir..”  
  
                “You will not act cross with me again, will you? It is I who loves you, sweet. Never forget this.” He pressed a gentle kiss to a cheek still reddened by the viciousness of Isaac’s love.

               

~ / ~

 

               

                The next morning was chaos as usual, the four children that lived in the vast home rising well before their parents simply to run screeching through the hallways on the first floor. They cackled and the tallest of them - Jackson, turning 7 soon - declared that he was the leader and “wuttin’ nobody gonna stop ‘im.” just as the two younger boys tackled him to the floor.  
  
                The fourth child was a girl, two months younger than Jackson, her name was Lily. She had dark ebony skin and wild curls that sprang to and fro as she sat upon the top of the pile of boys, little arms crossed, and bottom lip held stern.

 

                “I’m Queen Lily and all of you are my servants!” She spoke haughtily, grinning a grin that was missing one of its front teeth.   
  
Jackson snurled his nose angrily, squirming from beneath the pile and toppling Lily and the twin boys - Sam and Will, both four - to the floor with another bout of laughter.   
  
                “I’ll tell Leo you won’ let me be leader, Lily!” Jackson threatened with a pout fit for a wounded pup.  
  
                The twin boys gaped at Lily, looking to Jackson. “Then we’ll get in trouble!” They gasped in conjunction with one another.

 

                “You would not, Leo ain’t gonna do nothin’,” Lily said matter-of-factly, fists balled high on her hips.

 

                A tall form that shadowed behind her sent the twins scattering for cover, Jackson going wide eyed and looking as if he’d seen a ghost.  
  
                “Now, what’sa matter ‘ere?” Leroux sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

                Lily turned quickly to stare up at him, tugging on the torn knee of his blue jeans. “Jackson’s bein’ a big ol’ baby, Leo!”

 

                “Was not! You wouldn’t let me be leader!” Jackson near shouted, causing Leroux to flinch just slightly.  
  
                Another heavy sigh and Leroux bent down to pick up Lily, sitting her on his shoulders. She grinned and grab handfuls of his hair to hold on.   
  
                “How ‘bout ya’ll both be leaders? Each one of youn’s is a noble, all gots land ‘n the sort,” he offered, looking to Jackson and the twins that peeked around the banister of the stairs cautiously.  
  
                Leroux watched Jackson’s face as he mulled the suggestion over in his mind, curling his lip up in thought. Finally, the boy nodded.   
  
                “I ‘spose that works,” he said with slight reluctance.

 

                Leroux nodded, patting him on the head firmly. “That’s a boy. Now, how’s about breakfast?”  
  
                The four children agreed unanimously, the boys dashing into the kitchen and Lily following after shimmying her way down from Leroux’s shoulders. He walked after them leisurely, enjoying the small moment of silence as they were distracted. Truthfully, they’d woke him from a deep sleep, he was never up earlier than 9:30 am, but here he was just as the sun began to reach over the horizon. The children never ceased to amaze him with their energy, always ready to rouse trouble from its rest no matter the time of day.

 

They made their way into the vast kitchen, the twins were the first to scramble onto stools at the marble topped island. They were always so rapt when watching anyone cook, neither Sam nor Will spoke the entirety of the time it took to make any of their meals, too busy cataloging everything that was done within their swiftly growing minds. Leroux was convinced they’d both be brilliant adults. Jackson, on the other hand, simply watched to keep himself out of trouble. The boy was a master of deception, almost always weaseling his way out of trouble until Leroux caught him. Lily was head strong, she didn’t know what giving up was and she’d be damned before she ever understood its definition. Leroux had silently deemed her his favorite, she had very much the same temperament as him.   
  
                Leroux served as their undeclared Godfather, always handling them when they weren’t under supervision of their parents. He was as much of - if not more so - a father to them than their true sires. He had always been available to them when they needed things, never far out of reach if he did so happen to be out of the house. He took a great amount of pride in each of them, eager to see them spread their wings and explore their world.

 

                Sam piped up, interrupting Leroux from his thoughts, “Uncle Leo, what’re you gonna make?”

 

                Leroux paused for a moment before reaching into one of the stainless steel fridges, pulling out eggs and milk. “Pancakes sound awful good, don’ they?”  
  
                Sam grinned at this, nodding his head full of dark curls quickly. The other three piped in as well, though Jackson was still stewing in his own brew of sullenness. After eating he was sure to recover, though. It always worked this way.  
  
                “Tell us a story while you cook, Leo!” Lily near demanded, little hands splayed wide to push herself high on the marble island.  
  
                He chuckled softly, busy with mixing ingredients together in a large bowl. “What sorta story, cher?”  
  
                “The one about the bats, that one!” Will interrupted, grinning a gap-toothed thing.  
  
                “C'est bon ça[4], c'est bon ça,” Leroux agreed, smiling softly.  
  
                The four children leaned across the island with wide eyes, ready to hear what tales Leroux had to tell.  
  
                _He began to tell them of a game that was held far before the creation of man, when the animals still held the earth in their grasp. The game was held once a year and had two teams, the animals who could not fly - the hounds, horses, mice - and the animals that could - the hawks, eagles, sparrows. At this time, though, the bat did not have wings, so he asked to be on the team with animals who could not fly._  
  
                When they saw the little bat, with his wiggling nose and pointed teeth, they laughed. The animals who could not fly were cruel to him, and said that he was too small to be on their team. So the bat went to the birds, but they denied him as well, for he did not have wings and could not fly with them. One bird - a wise old owl - had a thought. He took the skin from a drum and made wings for the little bat so that he could learn to fly with their team.   
  
                To teach the bat they took him to the top of an old maple - way up into the air. They dropped him from the top branch of the tree, and he flapped his new wings as hard as he could. The bat could not fly straight and instead went in zig zags across the sky. The birds were disappointed, but the bat tried his best.   
  
                “This is the best that I can do!” He pleaded.  
  
                “The game is getting too close, we do not have time to teach you to fly straight,” a young sparrow said to him.  
  
                Out of pity, the birds kept him on their team. As the game went on, they were tied with the animals that could not fly. Here was when they put the bat in. He caught the ball and because he could not fly straight, the other animals could not touch him. So he made the winning score for the birds. When they had won, the animals who could not fly were amazed, asking who the player was.   
  
                “We could not touch him, he was so fast!” A dog yipped.  
  
                When the birds told that it was the bat, the animals felt very guilty because they had been so cruel. They did not believe in the bat the way that the birds had, they had not given him a chance. The little bat had gone out of his way to do his best and play for the birds. But he had learned to fly, this is how the bat got its wings.  
  
                “That’s why you shoudn’ make funna someone that ain’t like youn’s. Naw matter how big they is or what they can do. Ya gotta respec’ peoples, whether they’s like you or naught. Cause you never know what they gon’ be able ta do,” Leroux said as he served pancakes to the children who were still rapt.   


Jackson nodded slightly, smothering his food in thick syrup, a critical expression on his face as he did so. “So.. Does that mean that ‘cause I got mad at Lily.. That I wasn’ respectin’ her?”  
  
                Leroux blinked, pausing to look at the child. “I.. Yeah.. It does, but ya know now, don’ ya? Ya know how you shoul’ treat others.”  
  
                “Yeah, I do,” he confirmed.  
  
                Lily looked to Jackson, a meek expression on her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask if I could be Queen, Jacks.”  
  
                A grin split Leroux’s face as he watched the two hug, then go right into an argument about who had more syrup on their plates. The twins, on the other hand, were refusing the syrup and making holes in the round disks of flour to use them as masks, giggling and making faces behind them. The children would never cease to amaze him, they were as diverse as the whole world combined into one.

 

It struck something in him, seeing them now. Very much like new saplings, they could be warped by the winds that came through, twisting them in unfavorable manors. Perhaps, though, if they were bent in ways out of Leroux’s control they could become like the Crooked Forest, beautiful and vast despite how they turned. Leroux could only hope that fate would favor them. He shook the thoughts loose with a crooked smile, turning to clean away the mess that was made by cooking.  
  
                Confident that the children could handle themselves from here, he left the kitchen so that they might eat in peace. Finding his way to the staircase, he made his way to the second floor and down the hallway there. Leroux’s room was at the very end, the door different from all the others in that it was etched with strange figures and adorned with exactly seven horseshoes, all nailed upside down.   
  
                He turned the knob and stepped inside, shutting the door silently behind him. The room was of decent size, composed of four walls, with the fourth being shortened by the slanted ceiling that opened to a large sunroof. The sunlight fought through a heavy black cloth that was nailed about the window to prevent its entrance. From the peak of the ceiling hung a large flower pot - cradled by a macramé weaving adorned with colorful Coquina clam shells - at waist height.  Devil’s ivy grew in vast tendrils to the dark wood floors, rooting itself and spreading to each corner of the room where it started up the walls. It had been adjusted to offer a pathway through the room to different points, but they had taken over again, so Leroux simply stepped over the tender suckers.  
  
                He made his way to the far left corner of the room, to a large glass aquarium that sat on a wrought iron stand. A mesh lid was fastened tight to its top and amongst the foliage and substrate, the creature that resided inside was nearly invisible. Only as Leroux began to remove the top did the smooth snout of the animal emerge from the edge.   
  
                “Bonjour, mon chere,” Leroux said softly as the python slipped towards him.

 

                She was nearly six feet long and as round in diameter as a hat box. Her nose was smooth and eyes round and puppy like, tongue scenting the air as she wound her way up Leroux’s arm. He lifted her gently to rest along him, grinning at her. She had been his best friend for the past seven years and he took great pride in her beautiful coloration. She was tame and didn’t often grip him as if he might be prey, instead choosing to rest along his shoulders and lift herself upwards to tangle in his hair on occasion. 

 

                “Gonna be a full moon tonight, chere. Elle va être belle,” he said softly, walking to rest in the hammock he used in place of a bed.  
  
                Here he rested, Chere moving to laze beside him as they rocked side to side in the dim lighting. Leroux stared up at the carvings above his bed, burned and stained into the wood planks many years ago. A depiction of a wolf that stood alongside an elk, both calling up to the full moon above them. A foot of empty space led to the next images, the wolf and elk no longer in harmony. They had turned upon each other, the wolf now impaled by the elk’s horns. The mighty animal held its head high into the air, the wolf that it had gored laying limply against its rack. The moon had been reduced to a sliver here, shying away from the horror beneath it.  
  
                As he studied the depiction he knew so well, the same moon that was tattooed on his right bicep began to itch and he scratched absentmindedly at the ink. He relished these moments of silence, taking the time to rest as he was. Though something always whispered in the back of his mind, a steady ticking that hadn’t ceased for twenty years.  
  
                Somewhere in the room, long ago stashed away, were relics of a life before. A bloodied white chemise, tattered trousers, a dog eared bible, and a golden pocket watch. If one listened long enough in the silent area, the steady ticking of time could be heard. These remnants of his past were stowed with much contempt, never to be let back into the light they had once seen. Leroux covered his past with the life he now had, one that thrived in the dusk.  
  
                Having burned all else that belonged to him, those four things he could not part with. Having turned his face from the warm touch of He who was meant to be his savior, he could not turn back now, lost in the life that had been forged with steel walls around him. Once a believer, though now he was lost through the shroud of life that had smothered out any hopes he might have held.      
  
                  
                After some time he got up from the hammock to shake these thoughts from his mind - leaving Chere where she rested - and moved to the other side of the room, rucking his shirt up and off over his head. He stood before the long mirror here, appraising the marks along his body. Runes and depictions that matched many of the ones carved on the ceiling and walls of his room. Deep scars marked where each of his ribs lay, vicious and dark in coloration - as if they had been ripped from his skin and then settled back to their homes.

 

He turned to peer over his shoulder at his back, calloused fingers reaching to trace the words scarred just at the base of his neck.   
  
                _Lupus Mortis._ Wolf of Death.   
  
                Violent memories surged through his mind as he touched the scars, tearing his hand away from them quickly and squeezing his eyes shut. Giving a shuddering cry, he sank to the floor with his knees drawn to his chest, pressing his forehead against them. His muscles cramped fiercely, drawing him further in upon himself as he wallowed upon the hardwood.

  
                Grinding his teeth together to muffle his pained groans, he rolled back onto his knees to stare into the mirror.  
  
                To stare into yellow eyes.  
  
                _The moon would be beautiful tonight._

 

[1] Ç'est vrai, mon amour - < Indeed, my love >

[2] Fais do do - < Go to sleep >

[3] Marinette Bois Sèch – Marinette of the Dry Arms, the most dangerous loa of Vodouism.

[4] C'est bon ça – < That’s good >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passe - Go away
> 
> Ferme - Too close
> 
> Petit bête - little beast
> 
> C'est vrai, mon amour - Indeed, my love


	3. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> APRIL 3RD - I redid this chapter, tweaked some stuff. School is killing me, chapter 4 will happen eventually I swear.

Isaac had not made his way downstairs at his usual time, he did not stir from his bed at 4:30am. Did not step across cool wood floors in socked feet to dress in a newly pressed suit. Isaac had not laid down that night after his dream, did not shut his eyes in the dark confines of his space to let the unknown lull him away. Instead, he had taken it upon himself to journey into the belly of the large home.  
  
                Down a spiral staircase and to the nook hidden behind a shelf of cans in the kitchen pantry. Here were more stairs where he traveled downwards into the sodden earth, water dripping from the concrete blocks that created this subterranean walkway. The wind howled low in the darkness, slipping underneath the slim crack of a door at the bottom of the steps, its chilled fingers grasping for something to hold to.   
  
                Isaac stopped here, rapping twice against the heavy wood that block his path. A thin plate of wrought iron slid aside to reveal a pale face. The skin draped across bones and dry, chapped lips revealing stained, crooked teeth. No eyes existed on the figure, nor did hair, the former had been removed at some point in the man’s lifetime. A shriveled ear was turned to face Isaac.  
  
                “Ululat lupus est, et in media nocte,” Isaac near whispered, as if he were afraid to bring noise into the silence.   
  
                A rasp of a grin graced the sentinel’s face as he unlocked the door and stepped away to let it swing open. The groan it gave on ancient hinges was music to Isaac’s ears as he made his way down the tunnel ways ahead. Crude lights strung upon the high arched ceilings cast their glow on him as he grinned, tapping the cane he held in his hand against the walls, humming lowly to himself.   
  
                “A beautiful night! Gorgeous to behold in all her unwelcoming darkness!” He near shouted, hearing his own voice recite the words back to him.  
                  
                He spun about as the wind whistled past, a wicked laugh slipping from between lips opened wide. On light feet he tapped out a quick tune with the heels of his wingtips, clipping his heels together as he came to another door, his composure quickly returning to him. Another set of raps in quick succession. Another face with no gaze and mangled teeth and shriveled ear, a whispered rasp as the door was opened.   
  
                This door, however, was much larger than the last, opening to a vast arena. Here there were many people of all walks of life, all dressed in finery and sipping wine from delicate crystal. Enormous chandeliers hung thirty feet in the air to cast their light on the patrons below. An orchestra played Tchaikovsky and Bach gaily, the grins never ceasing on their fat and ruddy faces. The true masterpiece lay in the center of this room, where the floor dropped suddenly into a pit.  
  
                Here Isaac stood, having procured his own glass of wine on his way, stirring it about the crystal as he gazed to the floors that lay fifteen feet below. The stone was stained dark in places, littered with tatters of clothes and unintelligible parts of some long forgotten creatures. Perhaps some were human, perhaps they were something else - it would never be known. His gaze traveled to opposite ends of the wide oval, where iron gates concealed what lay behind them.   
  
                A rupture of jeers broke through the crowd as the gate on the right hand end of the arena was jarred roughly. The thing was not quite human, but not a complete beast either - it lay somewhere in the middle. In the darkness only parts of it could be seen, a deformed hand with fingers pointing in unnatural directions, as if they had been broken and never set. A hairless pig snout that drooled heavy foam and spat dark mucus as it was shoved between the bars, large teeth gnashing at the iron. An awful series of sounds came from its mouth, or somewhere that might have been such. Pig like snorts and gruff calls as it scented the spectators and the other creature that it could not see.  


                A sudden presence beside him brought him from his thoughts. Isaac slid his gaze sideways to see the monstrous man beside him, their shoulders near to touching in the crowded space. His suit looked just too small for his frame, the wine glass in his hand like a decoration from a dollhouse. The man’s eyes were piercing, a bright blue in the midst of his weathered face. Dark copper peppered with gray lay smooth against his head, shining with gels beneath the chandeliers. He grinned wide, spittle breaking between his lips.  
  
                “Isaac, my boy!” He said rather loudly “How are you? We missed you at the Gala last month, it was rather cantankerous, if I do say so myself and why, I do say so.”  
  
                Isaac allowed a facade of great care slip onto his features. “Viktor, how wonderful it is to encounter you here! I would have assumed you to be at home on the full moon, what brings you beneath the city?”  
  
                A guffaw left Viktor’s mouth, Isaac struggling not to retch at the stench of his breath. “Why, to look for you! We do have business to discuss, do we not?” The threat was read in his eyes, the ever-so-slight narrowing at the corners.  
  
                “Ah, how could I forget. Nearly inexcusable, my apologies..” Isaac trailed off to glance about the room. No one cared to look at the pair. “Perhaps we might move somewhere more suited to the occasion, it is rather crowded here.”  
  
                A solemn nod was the answer given as Viktor made his way through the crowds, other patrons parting the waters as his massive form moved through them. Isaac watched the way Viktor walked; shoulders back and head high, chest protruding in an almost uncomfortable show of his power. The man was not fat - though he did possess a gut from a few too many drinks of rum - but was muscled to an extent that if he were to be unclothed, it was sure to be unnatural and unnerving. He made Isaac’s stomach churn with how proud he was.  He was a grizzly who walked upright and lacked the pelt.

 

                They found themselves tucked away into an alcove that required they be close enough that Isaac could feel the heat the other man radiated.  
  
                Viktor picked at something in his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Have you heard from the boy?”  
  
                “Boy..” Isaac paused, question in his eyes. “No, I have not. We have been searching, but none of my scouts are able to find him. Or his brother, for that matter. Quite the slippery pair they are, wouldn’t you say so?”  
  
                Viktor ignored his question. “You’re absolutely sure that you have not? You know what a pressing matter this is, Isaac. You know what something like him can bring about our world, the destruction they wreak. Look at the ones in that pit, you do see what monstrosities they are, do you not?”  
  
                “I see, truly, I do. They’re abhorrent, but we have no word of them,” Isaac ran a hand over the back of his neck, subsiding the chill there.  
  
                A narrowing of beady eyes. “Find them. My eldest and that beast that he saved. Find them or perhaps _you_ will no longer be heard of.”  
  
                Sudden anger burned in the back of Isaac’s throat. “Yes, sir.”  
  
                “Good, good..” A warm grin from the man. “Find my Leo and bring him to me, be sure to get rid of the twit that follows him. If he still lives. He’s proved to be a persistent little pest.”

 

                A struggle not to flinch at the spit that was released from Viktor’s ruddy lips was Isaac’s answer as he slipped from the alcove back into the crowd. Red burned in the corners of his eyes. _Twit. Pest. Beast._ All words used to describe his keep, the gem that Isaac kept carefully and near to his heart. Insults directly to Isaac himself, though made to another. His fingers itched and the fine hairs on the back of his neck bristled, how _dare_ he.   
  
                A swift snatching of a wine glass from a tray that toppled with the jerking and spilled its contents and cast shattered crystal along the stones. A gasp from ladies about and mutterings from men as Isaac continued with his drink back through the crowd to his place at the edge of the pit, leaning across the wrought iron railings there.  
  
                With a sudden burst of energy he joined in on the jeering that took place amongst what he considered heathens. They dressed in their finest, carried themselves with regal attitude and fanciful speech, yet they were degenerates. Lowering themselves into the enjoyment of the fights in the pit below, much like a roman watched their own men slaughter each other with a sick sense of joy and betterment. They do not understand what goes on below them, do not take into consideration the beasts beneath them.

 

                Isaac soon grows bored with the scene, taking up another glass of wine as he shoves his way back through the masses and into the hallways he came from. HIs steps are solid, resounding through the cavernous spaces as the lights still swing overhead and the wind whines along.

 

                The sentinels were quick to open and close their mighty doors, shutting away the party beneath and drowning the noise that drifted through the spaces. Isaac tramped up the steps, tossing away the now empty glass and relishing in the shatter that reverberated.

 

~ / ~

 

                Ambroise lounged against the cushions that lined the low window of his room. In his pale fingers he held the length of an opium pipe, the heavy smoke wafting through the room and resting lazily against the wooden flooring. The boy’s eyes were hazed as he stared at the rain that pattered against the window. Often he would lay like this, forgetting his entire day in the hold of the heavy fumes.

 

                This was his escape from the life around him, allowing him to slip into a lucid dream state. He could stare into the middle zone of his vision and occupy himself with empty thoughts for an entire day's length. This room was his sanctuary and his alone. No other member of the house would step across the threshold, rarely would they even look at the boy. _Perhaps I am too odd.._ He would muse, running the bar that lay lateral in the tip of his tongue along the back of his incisors.   
  
                Ambroise had always been one for the peculiar, collecting curiosities such as bones and other various deceased creatures. A human skull was his pride and joy amongst his collection, partnered with the water buffalo mount on the wall above his bed - which was a mound of plush pillows and blankets. His room was adorned with jars of preserved specimens, parasites, plants, animal fetuses. All dried and mounted or in jars of fluid lined in neat, precise rows amongst shelves nailed into the walls.  Shadow boxes of pinned butterflies, wasps, and other insects were placed in groups amongst the gold and mauve wallpaper.   


Ottomans of all shapes and sizes sat in squat contentment atop a large persian rug in front of the bay window on the left side of the room.  Sheer plum and gold curtains draped on either side of the window, tied back with silk ribbons. Jalsa style seating lined the window, this is where Ambroise spent most of his time, opium pipe in hand. He was a strange being in the eyes of the family, but he was beautiful in the eyes of Isaac. An exotic creature to be pampered.   
  
                He was a pretty boy. Deep tawny skin and coils of thick black hair that shown russet in sunlight. Bright hazel eyes the color of spring tree buds framed by long lashes, hooded by a severe set to his dark brows. His cheeks were full and freckled lightly, his jaw defined but rounded. He was thin and muscled, with long, delicate fingers and strong legs. He looked very young for his age of twenty-two and was often mistaken for a boy of much younger.

His stranger points were hardly severe; a thin silver ring in the septum of his nose, a matching bar through his eyebrow. A titanium ring that lay lateral through his tongue. Double hoops in the helix of his ears, coupled with piercings in their lobes. A spattering of thin, light scars beneath his eyes and upon his hands. Heavier scars crossed each of his shoulders. Strange. Oddly beautiful.   
  
                He could remember being called kind names, people calling him a cherub for his youthful looks. He also could hear the unkind words spat at him by strangers, things that he’d rather not reflect upon. None of these words reached within him, only passed his ears in fleeting whispers. He knew his looks, what he could do with them. He was equally aware of what some thought of him.  
  
                Ambroise laughed softly to himself, pulling his body taught to stand with a groan. Isaac was smitten with him and the thought of being his savior, saw him as a marble statue upon a pedestal. Ambroise saw the man as a wadded strip of newspaper that had been long discarded into the storm drains of the muddy streets. Ambroise took the blows, pretended to grovel at Isaac’s feet, held dark bruises and vicious cuts with pride. He held the man’s heart in his palm. The shriveled thing would be easy to squash, clenching his fist until the last struggling beat sputtered out in a gush of crimson.   
  
                With another lungful of opium, he slipped a steel blade from the floor, exhaling as he stepped out into the hallway and towards the stairway. His bare feet were silent on the wood as he ventured one floor up, down the hallway there and into the room that belonged to the smitten man. Isaac slumbered soundly beneath the comforter, unaware of the boy’s presence.   
  
                Gentle steps led him to the bedside, blade twirling between his fingers as he watched the sleeping man’s face.   
  
                Ambroise watched Isaac chase after his son, a wide grin plastered to his face as the toddler dove beneath the coffee table. Ambroise cried out, a hand pressing firmly to his temple as he stumbled blindly to the door, knocking over something glass that he could only barely hear shatter against the wood floors.  _Not far enough._ Isaac scooped the boy into his arms and swung him around, the child shrieking in excitement.   
  
                Ambroise watched as he collapsed to the cold floors, thunder shouting into his ears as they were taken to the second floor of the home. Blunt nails dragged his body to the best of their abilities, grasping for purchase on any surface that would put him further from the room. _Sucked back in_. Ambroise could feel the ghosting of liquid down his hands, the bumps rising on his skin.

 

Isaac’s frantic calls and blown-wide pupils. The stumbling as lightning streaked across the hall. Ambroise tried moving his legs, they did not budge. He could no longer drag himself across the floors, nails bloodied at the quick from pulling at the wood. Isaac’s wailing dropped the boy’s heart into his belly.   
  
                He could smell the iron, feel the taffeta slick against his palms. See what was left of the delicate woman's heart shaped face. Ambroise felt her push his fingers into the burger of her throat, caressing the bones there. His head snapped to the side to see the sleepy child rubbing his eyes and asking what he was doing.  
  
                He cried out along with Isaac, screams ripping from his throat and sweat seeping from his brow into his eyes. He could feel the vessels in his cheeks and eyes burst with the viciousness of the action. All he could taste was salt and new pennies, pouring from his mouth to the strangled gurgling of the toddler. Feel the popping of tendon in his teeth, spattering warmth against the walls as lightning addressed the scene.

 

Ambroise was back in the hallway just outside of Isaac’s room, breathing ragged as he struggled to sit up. His vision was blurry, slowly returning from the otherworld. His head pounded and his clothes were soaked in a cold sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. Ambroise looked up towards the door as Isaac opened it, the knife that the boy had dropped clenched in his hand.  
  
                “Perhaps,” Isaac began. “You can enlighten me and tell me just what you planned to do with this?”  
  
                A blank stare was the initial answer as Ambroise pulled himself to his feet, bracing against the wall.

 

“In truth,” the boy huffed, struggling still for air. “I was going to kill you. Send the point of that blade into your heart. You’ve sent my plans down the shitter, though. A pity.”

 

Isaac bared sharp teeth, clenching the handle of the knife in a white knuckled grip. Two lunging steps and he was on the boy, the gleaming blade buried into his shoulder. He had missed his heart, slipping just beneath the clavicle and grating against the bone as he twisted it. Ambroise let out a wail befitting of a banshee, digging bloody nails into Isaac’s arm and splitting the skin.

 

A wicked laugh erupted from Isaac, echoing through the halls of the house as he wrenched the boy into the wall. The air gushed from Ambroise’s lungs as he sent a fist into Isaac’s jaw, feeling teeth rip loose from gums. Isaac retaliated with blows to the boy’s nose, crushing the bone and cartilage into his face. As he pulled his arm back for another blow, he was broadsided by a third party.  


Isaac came face to face with gleaming teeth, having only a moment before they were bearing down against his left shoulder. A guttural scream ripped from the man’s lungs at he was tossed like a rag doll into the stair banister, the wooden posts snapping with the force. He found purchase enough to stop himself, dragging with his functional arm back from the edge.

 

Yellow eyes stared into his as heavy paws armed with daggers brought the beast closer. The red hackles were raised high, ears alert and unafraid as it snapped fowl teeth, froth and sputum falling in globules to the wooden floors. Ambroise watched in mute horror as his brother neared Isaac, his jaws opening wide to snap down upon the man’s head.

 

“Leo! Leo, please, stop!” Ambroise shrieked, kicking against his side to catch his attention.   
  
                Leroux turned to seize Ambroise’s leg, crushing his ankle between his powerful jaws. Isaac wailed in unison with the boy, the pain burning up their legs. In desperation and blinded by adrenaline, Ambroise wrenched the dagger from his shoulder, his own blood gleaming as he buried it deep within the thick fur and shoulder muscles of his brother.    
  
                A howl tore from his throat as the blade dug into him, his jaws releasing Ambroise. He immediately went back, tearing into the muscle of the boy’s calf in blind rage. Ambroise let another cry rip from his throat, kicking Leroux in the head using his good leg. His vision blackened, heart hammering in his ears as he struggled to keep his wits.

 

The last thing he saw before unconsciousness engulfed him was a blur of light. 


	4. Fibbing pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be happening again now! So sorry for the hiatus, as school became my main focus.

_Ambroise wandered through the orange grove, his bare feet sinking into soft earth between the blooming trees. He held a kerosene lantern at level with his chest, the flame within in the glass dome flickering and threatening to fall from its frantic tossing and turning. The moon had just risen, full and gleaming against the starless sky. Clouds veiled her away from the world beneath occasionally, shielding her from Ambroise’s glances. The moisture in the warm night settled in the boy’s hair, making it fall heavy about his shoulders and down his back._

_The sharp chittering of bats overhead caught his attention. He paused to look up at their frantic fluttering, needle like teeth snatching insects out of the air with the blink of an eye. They were mesmerizing, Ambroise slowly lowered his lantern to gaze at them, tracing their looping paths in the moonlight. His original task was nearly forgotten when the wick of his lantern finally fell to the sway of his hand._

_He did not notice, the sudden darkness never registering in his mind. Slowly the glass casing and metal framing slipped from his fingers, thudding against the ground. Kerosene leaked from the valve that popped open with the impact, soaking the ground beneath his feet. The moon had captured the boy’s full attention, put him in a trance that he did not try to escape._  
  
                A voice called to him in the distance, soft at first and then urgently. Louder, louder, **louder.** It was frantic now, screaming in his ear for him. The shrieks were blood curdling, the kerosene beneath his feet suddenly coming to life. The flames gripped his flesh, dug vicious claws deep against bone, etching its mark there. Still, he did not move, but simply gazed at the bright smile of the moon as the fire engulfed him entirely. His cries died with the chittering and the screaming, drowned by the beauty above him.

****

Mikael watched the man rip through the bedroom, his long, nervous fingers twitching at his sides as Isaac wrenched the etched boards from the ceiling. He threw them to the floor with an angry cry, snapping the proud elk in two, the wolf still bowing to the moon as nails scattered across the floor. With two lunging steps, he yanked the heavy oak wardrobe to the floor with a tumultuous crash, breaking loose the brass knobs and scratching the dark finish, clothing spilling like its intestines. Mikael swallowed softly as the man then upended the iron frame bed, kicking about the boxes that lay beneath. Broken glass skidded with sharp ringing across the floors, papers flying loose from ancient bindings.

 

Isaac's eyes wandered and found Mikael standing beneath the devil's ivy, nearly camouflaged by the heavy foliage. The man's eyes were wild, pupils blown wide and corners crimson red. Sweat fell down his face and soaked his soiled shirt, his nails and knuckles bruised and blackened with dried blood.

 

"You!" He snarled, spittle landing on the wooden floors. "You watched that monster attack me, watched as he tore into my seeker! And you. Did. Nothing!"

 

Isaac seized Mikael by the throat, his blunt nails digging into the pale skin. He tore him from his hiding spot of ivy vines, ripping the delicate greenery at its joints. Mikael did not struggle, dared not invoke more wrath in the shorter man. He made no sound as he was thrown to the floor, the heavy ceramic pot of ivy heaved upon him shortly after. The shards of the pot broke against his ribs and torso and scattered around him; the roots and leaves of the plant covering his middle. The heavy tarp it had been attached to was ripped from the sunroof, spilling golden sunlight into the dusty room.

 

Isaac glared at the man, nostrils flaring like an angry bull's. "You let that.. That thing! You let it try to kill me and then try to kill my boy! That is my property, he belongs to me! And you let damage overcome him..." Isaac took a staggering breath. "You will pay dearly for this, sweet Mikael," Isaac whispered as he gripped the boy's face in a pale, ringed hand. "Dearly."

 

Mikael had watched - had reveled, even - as the rust colored creature tore into his younger brother, shivered when its jaws nearly clamped shut upon Isaac's throat. Mikael thought him a tyrant, a monster of his own accord that was much, much worse than Leroux had ever been. Leroux had been right to attack Isaac. To tear into the man after he had brutalized his younger sibling, despite not being fully so. _Had Leo been right to then turn on his kin?_ Perhaps not, but it hadn't stopped Mikael from silently cheering him on.

 

Mikael shouted out as Isaac wailed his fist into his nose, cracking it and not stopping there. He continued to beat the seventeen year old until his face was split open like an overripe tomato, bursting full and red. Mikael spat blood onto the floors as Isaac released him, taking heaving breaths as he tried bearing through the pain.

 

"You will right this mess. You'll take that monster through those tunnels and put him into one of those pits where he belongs! Where all of you belong. I do not care who helps you. You'll need someone stronger than you, I'm sure. Take Benji or Samuel. Take both of them for all I care," Isaac growled, leaning down to dig his fingers into the boy's bloody cheeks. "But get rid of him.”  
  
                                                                                             ~ / ~

  
Samuel bellowed deep in his barreled chest, heavy shoulders shaking as he laughed at the boy.

"You mean to tell me," he snickered "that you want help catching a Lupis Mortis!? Not only that, but Leroux Moreau? You're kidding..” The tall man paused, knitting his brows with slight worry, “Aren't you?"

 

Mikael sighed heavily, pushing his fingers through his thin hair. "I really wish I was, Sam. And so does Benji," Mikael motioned vaguely towards the short, stout man standing in the corner.

 

Benji grumbled through thick, gray whiskers that faded into his long beard and covered where his mouth might be. He never spoke and was never caught eating or drinking, so no one in the family knew if he even had a mouth to begin with. Sam glanced his way then settled his grassy gaze back onto the boy in front of him. His mouth pursed with thought as he rubbed his stubbled jaw.

 

With a heavy sigh, he relented.  "I'm going to guess these are boss's orders? Wouldn't surprise me much, after what Leo did to him and Amby," Samuel sauntered towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob to look at Mikael. "Between the three of us, Isaac deserved it. Ambroise is lucky if he wakes up, let alone gets to use that leg again."

 

Mikael nodded, following behind Benji as Samuel led them from the room. "I watched it happen, I've never seen Leo so angry before. Not only that, but he caused Isaac to shift, and if that happens.. well then what you've done is pretty unforgivable in his eyes."

 

Samuel nodded his head sagely, walking to a large cabinet inside the next room. "Leroux was Isaac's right hand, his closest confident. It didn't take much for that to change, did it?"

 

"Would you be able to forgive someone for nearly killing you?" Mikael scoffed, crossing his arms.

 

Samuel paused for a moment before nodding. "I would, I think." He spoke as he dug through a cluttered cabinet, "If I attacked someone's sibling and they came in to help, I would have deserved it. Isaac did deserve what Leroux did. Ambroise, on the other hand, did not."

 

Mikael nodded again, watching as Samuel pulled a long, aging leather case from the drawer. He laid it upon a table top and untied the dry-rotted bindings, rolling out the flaps to reveal its contents.

 

Inside - tucked neatly in their respective fastenings - were three thin silver blades, four wooden arrows fletched with black feathers and tipped with rust colored metal, and seven vials of various liquids.

 

"If you want to catch him, you'll need to set bait. Something that would interest a predator like him." Samuel spoke softly, but seriously as he procured two of the vials. "You'll want these."

 

The vials were sealed with heavy caps, stopping the dark brown liquids from oozing. Their labels were illegible, but seemed to be written in a language unknown to either Mikael or Benji. At one point - evident by the stained glass - the vials had been full.

 

"These are Lithuanian, procured in one of my travels home. Very potent, they're sure to lure in any wolf within miles," Samuel handed them off to Mikael, who gave them a bewildered look.

 

He quirked a brow at the large man. "But what are they..?"

 

Samuel shrugged one shoulder as he rolled the leather case and tied it again. "I don’ know, but don't get it into your mouth or touch it with your bare hands."

 

"How do you not know what it is, but know exactly what it does?" Mikael scoffed.

 

Samuel looked at the boy as he procured a small box from the cabinet. "Do you know exactly what the toaster does?"

 

"I-.. Well, yes.." Mikael said, bewildered.

 

"But do you know exactly what it is made up of that makes it do what it does?"

 

Mikael huffed, toeing at the ground in abstract annoyance. "No, I don't."

 

Samuel nodded. "Exactly my point, boy." Benji gruffed some form of noise from behind the two, urging them to get on with the matter at hand. Samuel obliged him and handed over the box he held. It was clearly labeled with bright red ink reading:

_CAUTION: CONTENTS UNSTABLE_.

Avoid Contact With Eyes And Skin

E

 

Benji didn't so much as blink at the warning, knowing that it was only a myriad of sedatives that if mixed, could create fumes that made one extremely sick to one's stomach. Benji had learned this the difficult way as a young boy. Samuel knew that if you were to mix them in high quantities, they could become deadly.

 

Mikael only glanced to it, watching Samuel gather the rest of his equipment. A heavy net, docking rope, and the small pistol he never left home without were among them, all tucked neatly into a heavy canvas bag. This bag was handed off to Benji, where he lugged it over his shoulders. Mikael mused that he looked like a gorilla with a coin purse. Gathering his thoughts into a more serious manner, he looked back to Samuel.  
  
                Samuel rubbed a meaty hand on his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know for sure that I can trust you with a gun, yet. So.. We’ll improvise your part in this whole operation if we find him.” He grinned confidently, clapping Mikael on the shoulder roughly.

 

                Mikael gave the man a bewildered look at he followed him from the room, Benji in tow. “What do you mean we’ll _improvise_?”  
  
                Samuel’s laughter echoed as they ventured into the streets.

 

~ / ~

 

              _We are confident in faith, lost in His beauty but found in His grace._

 

              _Leroux groped along the wet ground, the skin of his palms split and oozing thick black fluid. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, the same black substance that came from his hands sticking his lashes together; black, viscous tears fell down his face._

_He cried out, a gurgling gasp sounding in the night. His joints were pulled loose, limbs awkwardly extended and skin opening up as if to welcome the light from the full moon. His ribs broke from the skin, gleaming gray in the dim light. His jaw hanging slack, he cried out again, strangling on black sputum._

_Leroux wished for death in this moment, ached for quite in such a cruel, humid night. He could hear thundering hoofbeats behind him, feel the rumbling of the ground beneath him as the dark riders came upon him. They circled him, the three of them on their rotting steeds, ghostly hounds on their heels. The dogs bawled and keened around the man, claws barely scraping the soft earth as they leaped over top him._

_The first rider to arrive dropped to his feet in front of Leroux, his face obscured by a blindingly white mask. The monstrous mount behind him snuffed and pawed impatiently at the hounds. Leroux rolled distant eyes up to gaze at the being, only to drop them back to the ground. It knelt before him, gently brushing his bloodied and tangled hair back from his forehead with fingers as chilled as the mountain spring._

_Gently it shushed his agonized whimpering, the hounds nipping at his legs with needle-point teeth. The being took his head gently against its boot and pet his hair as if he were one of the hounds that accompanied it. As he leaned into the touch, finally allowing his eyes to slip shut, the hounds came upon him, tearing and snarling against his soul._

                 Starting awake with a blood curdling scream, Leroux searched his surroundings with wild eyes. He felt of his face with trembling hands, finding no black fluid, but a sticky, cold sweat instead. He felt at his jaw and found the tendons taught and in place, his ribs resting beneath the skin where they belonged. He took a shuddering breath and blinked in the darkness, willing his heart to be still. Somewhere far off, he could hear the faint crying of an owl and surrounding him were the calls of spring peepers.


End file.
